


but it gets worse

by creatoriginsane



Series: To Kill a King [1]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crime Fighting, Crimes & Criminals, Gen, Organized Crime, Prequel, Writing Exercise, i'll tag more as i go along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-07-13 02:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16008785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creatoriginsane/pseuds/creatoriginsane
Summary: “Some people call you a menace.”A smoker and an alcoholic in a city that just wants to sleep.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I admit, Cancerous, my first full-blown fanfic ever was a trainwreck. It’s been, what, five years since I last wrote for this fandom? Wow. I was still studying back then. Anyway, let’s see if I’ve learned anything about writing and if my memory serves me right because I have no intentions of rewatching or rereading the entire series. But I might soon since I have plans on rewriting/rehashing the entire “Cancer-verse” into something I’d like to call the “To Kill a King” series.
> 
> But, to be honest, I can imagine that as a standalone story, so...
> 
> Consider this as a sort of prequel to that, I guess.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated. Thanks for reading.
> 
> And if any of you want to experience the trainwreck, head over to https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8662516/1/Cancerous because I have no intention of posting it here.

 

It’s not every day that someone stumbles into HOMRA _already_ drunk, especially someone who has done so for the past three days in a row.

“I need an eye-opener.”

It’s two in the afternoon and such a line could only come from the mess of a person that is Mayonaka Akari.

“We don’t serve drinks until five.” The bartender spoke, but his response falls on deaf ears.

She sits by the counter, props up her head with one hand. Kusanagi Izumo, the resident and only bartender, is already familiar with this scenario, given that they’ve been at it for more than a few months now. She would stumble in at one or two in the afternoon, inebriated and sputtering about how “shitty” or how “shitastic” her day has been as if they’re close friends, she’ll sit at the counter and order Irish Coffee, or Green Tea Highball, or her personal favorite, a Reverse Screwdriver.

But there’s something different about today. Perhaps it’s because she’s wearing a blazer, a pair of slacks, and leather loafers, rather than her usual attire of loose shirt, denim shorts, and flip-flops.

“I’ll pay double.” She smiles lazily, as she always does, and slides a few bills towards him.

“Of course you will.” He pockets the money without a second glance. “Wouldn’t be proper to ask you to pay triple.”

“But I can today.” She fishes a few more bills from her pocket. “Here.”

He simply stares at the money laid in front of him. It begs the question, what the hell does she do, anyway? She’s dressed for a business meeting, but she looks like she just woke up. Her clothes are wrinkled and there’s a noticeable stain on her blouse...

“I’m not doing anything illegal or unethical.” She adds, “I’m a broker.”

_For what?_

The question falls silent on his tongue. He’s not the type to prod into the lives of his patrons, and she’s not the type to say more than she wants to. She’ll tell him about busted traffic lights, delayed trains, wrong delivery addresses, and spoiled food, but she won’t tell him where she went, what she ordered, or how she failed to notice the smell of rotting meat.

And that’s fine.

He asks her, “So what’s the drink of the day?”

“Green tea.”

Perfect.

“Highball?”

“Plain.”

He’s surprised at her answer.

She continues, “I’m due for a meeting today.”

“Ah.” He mouths. “A buyer?”

“Seller.”

She doesn’t say anything more, and he then wonders what kind of broker she is, or for what company she works for, or who she’s meeting. But then again, it’s none of his business what his patrons do in their day-to-day lives. He’s just there as a listener, a crux of some kind for them to ease their way through the heydays of life.

She’s just another one of his patrons.

“Green tea coming right up.”

And he’s just a bartender.

Her phone rings at the exact moment that he places the drink in front of her. She doesn’t answer it, instead lifts the cup and inhales the fresh, grassy scent.

“Nothing like the smell of something green.” She mutters before taking a cautious sip.

The ringing stops. She closes her eyes and drinks slowly, carefully.

The ringing begins again, but she ignores it.

“I think it’s best you answer that.” He suggests. “Might be something important.”

She lowers the cup and sighs, following his suggestion. She takes her phone from her pocket and narrows her eyes at the screen.

“It always is.”

She declines the call and continues drinking, albeit a bit more quickly.

“Thanks, bartender.” She says when she lowers the empty cup onto the counter. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

The ringing begins again when she slides out of her seat and makes her way to the door.

“Yo, Izumo.”

But there at the door stood the stoic, heavy-eyed Suoh Mikoto who had a half-consumed cigarette in his mouth and a phone to his ear as if he was calling someone.

She stops dead in her tracks.

Mikoto doesn’t drop the call.

Akari’s cellphone continues ringing.

Izumo puts two and two together.

“It can’t be.” He says to himself.

_How awkward._

But Akari straightens herself, huffs, and makes her way past Mikoto without so much as a polite greeting.

_Has she no fear?_

“Hey.” Mikoto says and she jerks to halt halfway past the door.

She must be so terrified.

“You owe me.” He says. “You owe HOMRA.”

“I know.” She nods stiffly before bolting to a run.

Izumo watches this with a terrified curiosity, questions coming to life in his head, wondering whatever has transpired between his friend and that woman, wondering whatever deal they had made, and whatever she apparently owed them for.

“Mikoto.” He greets him, seemingly calm and casual. He doesn’t think it’s the right time to be asking such questions, but he ought to know. Mikoto had always been the quiet type, but he was never one to keep secrets between them.

“That woman.” Mikoto says as he slouches on the couch. “She owes us.”

“What exactly does she owe us?” Izumo denies the possibility that she had anything to do with HOMRA besides being a frequent patron at the bar, and denies the possibility of her ever interacting with their King even more so.

Mikoto takes one final drag of the cigarette before disposing of it in the ashtray.

He breathes out hot smoke and says, “Cigarettes.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm just doing this as an escape from my other, more pressing, responsibilities.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated. Thanks for reading.

Tokyo Metropolis is often dubbed as the "techno-city" or the "city from the future" because of the amount of technology present. Each city block is bounded by security cameras able to deliver high-definition imagery and sensors able to detect the slightest hints of a fire or earthquake, which ensure that no place is ever out of reach of local authorities and emergency respondents.

Tokyo Metropolis is a perfectly safe city, or so people believe, because, like any other city, it has its fair share of crime and public disturbance.

But today, like most days, there is nothing of the sort.

At least, not yet.

"Mr. Nakahara!" She greeted cheerily.

Mayonaka Akari stood by one of the many benches in the small plaza. It was an open space, bounded by high-end designer stores and expensive restaurants. It wasn't an unusual place for a meeting between a seller and a broker. It was a neutral space, a  _safe_  place.

She had her phone to her ear, eyes scanning the people in the area.

"I almost thought you weren't going to show."

"Yes." Mr. Nakahara spoke on the other line, "Actually, this is about today."

Her smiling, ecstatic expression gradually fell as the man continued talking.

"Oh." She mouthed. "I see."

"Well. I'll deposit the check in your account, then." She frowned. "Yes, I understand. Wouldn't want my clients to endanger themselves."

The call ends. She stares at the number on the screen.

"Goddamn it."

What the hell did she get dressed for? She should have just stuck to online transactions and save her the hassle, spare her from the paranoia that comes with having a check for fifty million yen.

It was just a check. It was just one flimsy piece of paper which can easily be wrinkled, torn, wet, dropped, stolen...

Oh, why didn't she bring a bag with her today?

"Now, where is the nearest bank..." She types her query on her phone with one hand, as her other hand is preoccupied with making sure that the check is exactly where she had placed it.

She fishes for it in the inside pocket of her blazer.

_No..._

It's not there.

"Fuck!"

How could she be so careless?

She retraces her steps mentally. Perhaps she dropped it on the way, maybe on the subway? Or maybe when she got out of the subway? Could she have dropped it when she went to the restroom? Or what if she had mistaken it for money...

"No. Please." She begged the heavens and she rang a number on speed dial.

"Hey." She said into the phone, nervous and petrified, "Would you happen to know if banks can render a stolen check void?"

"Akari." The voice on the other end spoke. "I'm a bouncer. Not a banker."

"No, Yasumaru, please." She begged. "You've dealt with these before, right?"

"As long as you have the number, I guess you can."

_Damn._

She didn't.

"How could you lose a check, anyway?"

She wants to deny this possibility, but considers it an option, "I think I may have accidentally paid for my bar tab for the next few years."

"Oh, fuck." Yasumaru spoke with equal shock and amusement. "Well, congratulations."

She hopes that she had just forgotten the check at her apartment, hopes that it's there on her desk when she gets home, hopes that she wouldn't resort to using that outdated cell phone she had kept in a locked drawer.

She takes the stairs up to the second floor and finds her apartment door wide open and a note tacked on the wall.

She reads the note, "Rent."

She sighs and takes it off the wall, crumpling it and throwing it in an already overflowing wastebasket.

Her apartment is simple, modest, cheap. It's small enough to have everything within arm's reach and big enough to house one person comfortably. But, in her case, it's small enough to house person and boxes upon boxes of said person's things. She's been living in this apartment for five months and she has only paid two months' worth of rent, and most of her things are still kept in the stack of boxes.

She goes to her desk and finds the check missing.

And then a loud vibration is heard coming from the locked drawer.

"No..."

The vibrating continues. She refuses to answer it. The landlady might have taken the check for herself, or perhaps some opportunist passed by, but she doesn't think Mrs. Tsukasa would go so far as to steal, or a thief would take just one thing when everything else was ready for the taking.

_Who the hell would take–_

The vibrating continues and seems to have no signs of stopping.

"Goddamn it." She curses and fishes for the key in the drawer above it.

She opens the drawer quickly and the old flip phone slides into view along with several coins, dice, and other pieces of junk.

She sees the name flashing on the small screen.

"Now, don't be so surprised." A voice comes from behind her.

She screams.

_Fucking typical._

* * *

"Cigarettes?" Izumo repeated, confused and wholly astonished. He and Mikoto were avid smokers, sure, but not everyone in HOMRA was fond of such an activity.

"Yeah." Mikoto says, fishing in his pocket for another cigarette. "Said she knew where to get the best ones."

He shows Izumo the half-crushed pack of cigarettes.  _Magic 8_. He hasn't heard of that brand before. It's probably a brand that had been fazed out twenty or so years ago.

_Until today?_

It's probably a new brand, desperate for attention and all.

Mikoto lights the cream-colored cigarette and offers one to Izumo.

"This was from her?" He asks as he takes a cigarette from the pack. He lights it and quickly places it between his lips. He breathes.

_Oh. It's minty and the slightest bit sweet, perhaps raspberry flavored?_

"Down payment." Mikoto huffs a puff of smoke. "She owes us twenty crates."

"Crates?" Izumo coughed. "How could she owe HOMRA twenty crates of cigarettes?"

Mikoto doesn't answer, instead, he smokes away, silent, still, and scowling. He was never one for the flavored type, but he smokes what he can get.

Izumo's mind goes on overdrive. Twenty crates. How could anyone acquire and owe someone else twenty crates of a supposedly fazed out brand of cigarettes?

_Unless..._

Unless she has been dealing with the unsavory type all along.

 _"I'm not doing anything illegal or unethical."_  Her voice rings in his head.

He sighs, glancing downward at the "extra" money she gave him earlier. He spots something interesting among the folded, crumpled bills.

"Mikoto." He says, lifting the piece of paper, "Maybe she doesn't owe us anymore."

Mikoto looks at the item in Izumo's hand and nearly drops the cigarette in his mouth.

A check for fifty million yen.

"Yeah," he says, taking the check from Izumo's hand, "maybe she doesn't."

A spark ignites between Mikoto's fingers, and the check is set ablaze.

* * *

"Mrs. Tsukasa." Akari spoke, relieved at the sight of the old woman and not some hooded figure out to kill her. "I'm back." She smiled nervously.

"I can see that." Mrs. Tsukasa replied. "The rent?"

"Oh, yes." She nodded. "Well, you see, I was on my way to work and–"

"Either you pay today or this unit becomes a free-for-all."

_That's a weak threat, don't you think?_

The retort dies on her tongue.

She opens a box, two boxes, then three, fishes each of the boxes for clean, crisp bills which she lays on top of the desk in front of an impatient Mrs. Tsukasa.

Ten minutes pass and she manages to procure two month's worth of rent from three boxes.

"Hold on." She says, readily on her way to open the fourth box, "I can pay for everything until next month."

"Never mind." Mrs. Tsukasa huffs, grabbing whatever cash she laid on the desk. "Just pay in full next week."

The old woman makes her way out of the apartment, counting the bills gingerly.

"That takes care of that." Akari spoke to herself. "Now where could I have left check..."

The old phone, seemingly forgotten amidst the panic, vibrates again. She narrows her eyes at the name on the small screen and watches as it continues vibrating.

It vibrates three more times before she decides to answer it and end things once and for all.

"The answer is no." She deadpans.

She hears mumbling on the other line, two people, maybe three, and the faint sound of a radio playing in the background.

"The cigarettes you ordered." A gruff woman spoke in English. "You don't want them anymore?"

"Leila." She greeted, suddenly all cheery, "This isn't your number." She manages to reply in the same language.

"Yeah, well, things got complicated at the airport. They found out. They want in."

They've done business with too many people from too many places. She could only guess who Leila is referring to.

"Tell them no."

"They drive a hard bargain." Leila hums on the other line. "Listen."

"Hello, Ms. Mayonaka." A man spoke in Japanese. "We are willing to offer twice of whatever your buyer is paying you."

This is routine in markets like these, the better routine compared to the bag-'em-nab-'em-kill-'em routine paraded by most "fictional" tales of the underworld.

She's just thankful none of her business partners ended up dead or missing an appendage.

Yet.

So she cannot help but feel nervous.

But she is a businesswoman dealing in the yet-to-be-legalized trade of enhanced wellness products, and like all businesswomen, she must exude an aura of confidence and allure.

To the highest bidder, as they say.

_As if this day couldn't get any worse._

"And who is this 'we'?"

"SCEPTER4."

_Oops._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya. From this chapter onwards I'm using the "First Name, Last Name" format for consistency with non-Japanese names. Please also be informed, yet again, that this is an AU that doesn't necessarily follow the events of the canon.
> 
> A lot happens in this chapter, as well as nothing at all. Feedback is very much appreciated. Thanks.

 

Akari Mayonaka prides herself in being a woman of luck. A woman of great luck, in fact. Such great luck, that she cannot help but feel that anything she does will yield great results.

"I'm going to be a queen one day." She, at six years old, says as she watches a stage play featuring a princess in distress, a dashing prince, and a wicked queen.

It was Snow White.

From that day on, she began doing things she believed a queen would do, talking like how a queen would, eating how a queen would, and even answering back like a queen would. Her mother laughed. Her father scowled, Her younger brother clapped.

When she turned eleven, she watched a movie about an empress in China.

"I'm going to be an empress instead." She wrote in her diary that night, looking back at drawings of crowns and castles, dragons and knights. She leaves the page without any drawings. She doesn't know what to draw for empresses, after all.

That movie was about Wu Zetian.

* * *

What she does know, at eleven years old, was that empresses aren't born. As cliche as it sounds, empresses are made through ruthless politics and merciless tactics, planned from birth and planned until death. No woman was made an empress in a day, so she decided to plan her life.

Her parents were more than delighted to hear her dream of going to a prestigious university and pursuing a noteworthy degree. So, everything from that point on was paid for, every little whim was catered to, every single thing she asked was given to her.

And then she entered high school.

And then things started becoming complicated.

See, at this all-girls academy, which was known to be the best among the best, it's hard for a wannabe empress to mingle with thorough-bred queens who have often found their king.

But Akari Mayonaka believes herself to be a woman of luck.

So, she simply waits. She does as she's told. She doesn't cause a scene. She doesn't act out of turn. She becomes a prim and proper woman just like them. Queens and empresses aren't that different in manner, after all.

And then she's at her final year of high school.

"You've never been in a relationship before?"

She shakes her head at the question and is surprised at the expressions of her peers. Deep down, however, she can't help but feel flattered. And then she hears about the graduation ceremony, she hears about this tradition, she hears about soirees and parties and blind dates, and wonders how different they would be compared to the festivals they hold every year.

And then it hits.

So she decides to do what an empress does.

She goes to find an emperor.

* * *

Today, at twenty-four years old, Akari Mayonaka is still doing as what an empress would do.

"SCEPTER4?" She repeats into the phone. "I see."

Practiced grace and ruthless charm. She must stay calm, stay charming. End this as quickly as possible.

"It's fifteen million per crate. Double that and it's yours."

Twenty crates, if doubled, would amount to sixty million yen, and sixty million yen would be enough money for a long time.

But not in this industry.

"Very well."

_Oh, he's surprisingly pliant._

"Have the money ready by Saturday."

And with that, the call ends.

She takes in a deep breath. Two. Three. She takes the phone from her pocket and sets down the one in her hand. She types in a message in English.

" _They took it."_

* * *

Truth be told, the twenty crates of cigarettes Leila had with her were just normal cigarettes. There was nothing special in them, nor was there anything noteworthy, other than the sweet, minty flavor. There was absolutely nothing special in the crates the police bought, and that was the exact plan.

Today is a Tuesday, and Akari feels like celebrating.

" _Grab some dinner before you leave?"_  She texts Leila in English.  _"My treat."_

Leila is a businesswoman, just like her, but has the better life of traveling along with the goods in order to see it through to its intended destination and ensure that it goes to the right buyer and is bought for the right price. Leila, like her, is not doing unethical or illegal.

It's just that the goods they sell are neither legal or illegal. They're... peculiar goods.

Goods like "cigarettes" and "alcoholic drinks" that "enhance" certain aspects of the mind.

Or, rather, inhibit certain aspects of the mind.

And that is all thanks to the wonder of–

" _Okay."_  Leila replies quickly,  _"Look for a place. I'll meet you at seven."_

Akari knows Leila likes Mediterranean cuisine, and the closest restaurant she knows is near... No, she can't go there. Not any time soon. Probably not until she has what she promised him.

But she has been craving for some falafel and hummus.

What harm would come to them? They're just two girls out for dinner.

* * *

"Oh, Mr. Suoh!"

Akari chokes.

The Mariner restaurant is just three blocks away from the bar HOMRA, which she had no intention of coming close to anytime soon, she just didn't expect him and all his friends to be in the exact same place and at the exact same time as she and Leila.

They were just two girls out for dinner, for god's sake!

But they were hidden away in one of the booths in the far corner, and he was standing by the bar counter, talking with the manager.

_Yes. Good. Stay there. Stay out of sight._

She decides to focus on the food in front of her and the conversation she and Leila were having.

"What's wrong?" Leila asked.

_Right. She has always been the perceptive type._

"What do you do when a bad guy comes into a bar?" Akari managed to drawl out, keeping her eyes away from them.

"Is that a joke, or...?"

"I told about a guy before, right?"

Leila scoffed. "The one you owe a lot to."

"Yeah. He's... Just stay there." Akari slouched even further into the seat, trying to hide behind Leila's large stature.

"So the cigarettes were for him." Leila concluded. "Sweet. Sketchy. Really strange."

"He doesn't like money." She sighed. "Said it's a waste. Told him I'd pay him in cigarettes as a joke. He took it."

Leila almost chokes. "Really?"

"I swear." Akari nods. "I honestly thought he was insane."

* * *

"Cigarettes."

It was around five weeks ago. It was raining. Everything was drenched.

And everything was on fire.

"Cigarettes?" She repeats, voice cracking at the burn of alcohol. "You're insane."

Around five weeks ago, a massive fire broke in the middle of the city, several buildings we caught in the blaze, but thankfully no one was harmed.

That was the plan after all.

A certain man refused to pay, threatened the company, and sent death threats to several employees of said company. So, therefore, the company fought back and set fire to his properties. It was something between two parties, no one else was supposed to be involved. It was supposed to look like an accident.

And then entered Mikoto Suoh and HOMRA.

"We'll pay you back." She pleaded. "Everything. All the damages. In full."

_No, they won't. Everything is going to come out of my pocket._

Akari Mayonaka is a woman of luck, a woman drinking alcohol while drenched in the rain, trying to–No, she isn't a woman of luck. Not at this moment. She's trying to strike a bargain with this gang leader who's close to possibly ending her life.

"Don't care about the money." He says, taking a drag from his cigarette.

_It's fucking raining! How is he–_

"Fine." She says. "You want cigarettes." She fishes for something out of her bag and throws him a crushed packet.

It falls onto the wet ground.

"There. Cigarettes." She sighs. "Happy?"

He just stares at her. She can't figure out if he's angry or frustrated, she just honestly wants to leave. This wasn't part of the plan. He wasn't supposed to be here. No one was supposed to be here except for her and–

_Shit. They hightailed on me, haven't they?_

"Hey." She hears him call out, and she turns around, as if by instinct.

The fallen packet is now in his hands, and he seems to be observing it, curious rather than annoyed.

"This isn't the one you promised."

_What?_

She doesn't remember making a promise to him.

"Magic 8." He continued. "Said you had the best ones."

She can't believe it.

"I'm not some walking cigarette store, am I?" She retorted.

His eyes narrowed at her.

_Oh, shit._

The fire behind them surges up high and his eyes burn bright and furious. The cigarette packet burns to ash in his hand.

_No, no, no..._

Oh, now she remembers.

The only reason she's still alive today is because of him.

"Wait!" She begs. "Magic 8! I remember! Yes, I remember!"

Only vaguely, though.

"Two days!" She's almost screaming now. The fire rises up into the sky, and it's hot, hot, hot in front of her. She's terrified and amazed and honestly so scared.

She remembers this feeling.

"Give me two days, I'll send you a fresh box."

The fire settles down.

She can't believe that actually worked.

"And everything you owe. Pay it in cigarettes."

_You have got to be–_

"Okay." She agrees too quickly. "Everything. All of this. In cigarettes." She can't believe what came out of her mouth.

"Two days." He repeats.

"Thank you."

The rain continues to pour. Distant sirens are coming closer. He's still smoking that one cigarette hanging from his mouth, which was somehow spared from his rage earlier. She's still holding on to that half-empty bottle of alcohol. And this is all-too-familiar.

She remembers.

She remembers it started on a day like this.

* * *

She owes him and his gang twenty crates of cigarettes. She doesn't know if they're planning to sell it at double the price, but she doesn't care. The twenty that came in today was taken by the police, and it's going to take weeks before another shipment comes in.

That is, if another shipment comes in.

She doesn't know what the police intends to do with the cigarettes, whether the brand was seen in the black market as a hallucinogen or what, or whether the brand owner was caught in illegal operations. She just doesn't know.

She could attempt to find out, but that's for another day.

It's enough for her to just get through this hellish day.

"You made him take the fall?" Leila surmised.

Well, from how she told the story, that seemed to be it.

"No... Yes..." She paused. "I did, I think."

There was a news report about the fire before, but is ruled out as an accident, a gas pipe explosion.

"The news said it was a gas pipe explosion."

"Good, then." Leila concluded. "No casualties, no loose ends. Clean. All that's needed it to pay him back."

"I just hope he doesn't charge interest." Akari wishes aloud, seeing them leave the establishment from the corner of her eye.

_Thank god._

* * *

She drops Leila off at her hotel and heads straight home. On normal days, they would go for a drink before they call it a night, they're just both tired and want to get a full night's rest.

But it seems tonight she won't be getting any, as her phone keeps ringing.

No. She won't answer it.

It's ten o'clock. It's seldom she gets home this early, and even rarer that she's ready to fall asleep by then.

But her damn phone just won't stop ringing.

"No." She tells to the receiver the moment she answers the call.

"What business you got with Nakahara?"

_Oh, no._

It's  _him_.

The check is with him.

"It's none of your business."

"He's dead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I just love tormenting my characters, don't you?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice. About time I update this, don't you think? Also, thanks to the wiki and tumblr, I have only now realized that Shizume City (or Town, as per the wiki) is just part of Tokyo Metropolis aka the actual, entire place. Shizume is just HOMRA's territory. I suppose that it's more of a district, rather than an actual town, and for that reason, I'm simply referring to it as "Shizume." (Please don't kill me over this.)
> 
> Well. This was noted and will be applied to the previous chapters. (I never thought about this when I watched this series back in the day! Maybe I should give this a rewatch!)
> 
> Feedback is very much appreciated. Thanks for reading.

"My name is Akari Mayonaka."

It started on a night like this, some years ago. She can't remember when or where exactly, but it started in an alley on a night of pouring rain and pounding electro from a nearby club.

He was leaning against the wall, looking ever-dangerous and even more mysterious. He was smoking a cigarette, the strong kind, the masculine kind. And though she was leaning against the wall across him, she can still smell the pungent tobacco and knows better than to grimace at the scent.

"Hello?"

He puffs once, twice, before eyeing her.

"Get out of my sight."

And she does promptly.

No, it did not start on a night like this.

* * *

"He's dead."

She wonders if it was more likely that it was a night like this, with her debating whether she should go out and face the problem head-on or hide until the problem escalates even further. In this case, the problem has already escalated in a way that gives her no choice but to run.

Whether it is to run toward it or to run away from it, she doesn't know.

"Hey–"

She ends the call herself and is out the door before he calls back.

Which doesn't happen.

She thinks while she walks, briskly and hurriedly. She doesn't know what to do. She thinks of calling Leila or Yasumaru, but she can't involve them. Not yet. No, this doesn't involve just them. It's the company. A client is dead and his supposed check is in someone else's hands. Supposedly, something like this shouldn't happen. She shouldn't be panicking when a client isn't able to push through with a transaction because of unsavory circumstances, but this...

This is too strange, too big of a liability.

Junpei Nakahara was a supplier of prime merchandise.

And he is now dead.

_Or more likely, murdered._

But she doesn't want to jump to conclusions. Sure, Mikoto Suoh and HOMRA are fearsome and terrifying, but they wouldn't murder a man in cold blood, right?

_Wrong. They most definitely would._

She thinks to call the police, but given what happened that morning, she completely erases that option.

"Goddamn it." She curses aloud.

Calling the police would mean exposing her, exposing her client, breaching the privacy contract, and endangering the company, even if it means safeguarding her life. HOMRA wouldn't kill a man just because, would they?

She calls his number.

"Where are you?" She asks.

She should settle this herself. This might be just a misunderstanding. Mikoto Suoh might be talking in future-tense. Junpei Nakahara might still be alive. This is just about the check, nothing else. Maybe this is something that will end well. Maybe–

"Bar HOMRA." He answers gruffly.

_Where else would he be?_

She catches herself before she walks right into a green light.

_This must be a sign._

She's going to die.

* * *

Bar HOMRA, she knows, is in Shizume, some ways away from West Kobukuro. It's the ground floor of a four-story building, an old building, one which was bought for cheap by Izumo's uncle because it just had been ravaged by a fire several years ago.

_How rich they must be to even afford an entire building._

She thinks it's quite ironic that this gang now lives in it.

She gets off the bus and sees Bar HOMRA, warm light seeping through its windows and its open doors, two blocks away.

_Yes, this gives me enough time._

She's still thinking about whether to fight or flee.

She takes cautious steps. Her fingers start twitching. Her breathing becomes shallow. She wonders if they would do the same to her as they did to Nakahara–if they  _actually_  did kill him. She wonders if she would be threatened to an inch of her life for even considering doing business in their territory. But it wasn't like something bad happened to them because of it! And it wasn't like they were out to get all and any who dare set foot in Shizume without bowing down to them. People do their business in Shizume all the time! And if they singled her out because of this one thing...

_Well, how special I must be._

She's one block away now, and she's really considering running at this point, no matter how wobbly or how unsure she is of where she'll go.

But she can't run from this now, can she? She can't run when she's already so close.

_So close._

She's never been one to give up and run, but now might be the time to consider surrender.

_Empresses do that every once in a while, right? There's nothing wrong with–_

A voice stops her.

"You."

_His_  voice.

And she doesn't look to the side, doesn't want to see whether he is already engulfed in flames and ready to kill her. He's outside, he's far from the bar, he's absolutely going to kill her, maim her, burn her to the ground.

"It was a mistake. I'm sorry. I–"

Her entire being goes stiff. And before she could think of anything else, something is thrown at her feet.

She screamed.

* * *

"Maybe she doesn't owe us anymore."

Earlier that day, Izumo handed Mikoto a check. A check for fifty million yen, though crumpled, can still be cashed out.

"Yeah, maybe she doesn't."

And earlier that day, Mikoto was close to burning it to ash.

"Wait!" Izumo burst out, "The name."

The fire between Mikoto's fingers disappeared, and the check was then spared from its fury. He looked at the name written as the recipient and couldn't believe it. Junpei Nakahara has been dead for weeks. But it could be just a namesake, this must be some other Junpei Nakahara and not the one found dead in his car one morning in Shizume.

The fire is reignited between Mikoto's fingers and the check burns into a crisp.

They wouldn't be able to cash it in, anyway.

Still, Izumo wonders why she would be depositing a check amounting to that much money. "What business did you think she had with him?"

"Something big." Mikoto stares at the burnt pieces. "In Shizume."

Izumo's surprised Mikoto doesn't use the word "illegal."

"How long do you think she's been doing this?"

Mikoto breathes through his nose. He isn't one for conversations like this.

"Don't care." He lights a cigarette. "As long as she pays up."

"In twenty crates of cigarettes." Izumo deadpanned.

Mikoto made a sound of agreement and kept a smile to himself.

Izumo hasn't seen him like this before. "Why cigarettes?" He repeats his question.

"Helps me sleep better."

Izumo thinks he's lying, but doesn't say anything else. He wonders if Magic 8 contained more than just the usual ingredients in a cigarette, wonders if there are narcotics, if there are any other ingredients that would make the manufacturing of such a thing illegal.

Or perhaps this just was a phased-out brand.

Izumo can't clearly recall the first brand of cigarettes Mikoto smoked, after all.

"Remind her, then." Izumo suggests. "She should have enough to pay us back, in cigarettes or not."

Mikoto glances at his phone.

"She knows."

He expects her to start calling about a missing check, but remembered that she never called, not even once.

And several hours later, she still doesn't.

So he takes it upon himself to initiate.

As always.

* * *

In hindsight, Akari should have looked at what was thrown at her before screaming.

It was a cigarette butt.

"Nakahara's been dead for a long time." He continued, unnerved by her sudden outburst.

She looked at the ground, too embarrassed to do anything else. It would have been a little bit better if there were fewer people out and about, but–

_No. No, it wouldn't be better. He could kill me right here and no one would notice!_

He could set the cigarette butt on fire if he so wished, scorching her along with it. But he doesn't. He doesn't do  _anything_. And it feels strange that he's just standing there as if he's waiting for something.

" _Nakahara's been dead for a long time."_

She hears his words ring in her head, and then she realizes it. She hopes that what she realizes is true. It comes to her like a tidal wave, crashing immediately and breaking any plan she had prior to coming here.

Junpei Nakahara is dead, and Mikoto Suoh is probably not the killer.

Unless his intentions were to tell her that before doing her in.

Which is why her first response is, "Please don't kill me."

He takes in a long drag of the cigarette before breathing out the smoke forcefully. She smells the bitter scent and the faintest whiff of raspberry.

_Magic 8._

"We're still waiting."

And she expected this, at the back of her mind she expected this. He would still look for the goddamn cigarettes even when she's already on death row, and she wouldn't put it past him to call upon her from the afterlife just to do the same thing.

It makes her angry. It makes her scared. It makes her feel trapped.

"I know." She says nervously.

Akari Mayonaka hates feeling trapped.

"Something happened today..." She continues cautiously, not knowing what to say next.

She can hear him sigh.

"I didn't kill him, if you're wondering," he says, "but he was found dead in my territory."

She doesn't know what to do with that information, doesn't know why he would cut her off like that to say such a thing. Is he speaking in metaphor? Does he mean to say that he won't be the one to end her personally?

The fear doesn't disappear.

_But if he is telling the truth..._

"You owe HOMRA twenty crates."

She braces for something hot and scalding.

"As well as his killer."

She stops breathing.

"What?"

She looks at him–rather, forces herself to look–and sees his calm, oddly relaxed expression.

"Someone killed in my territory. I need to know who."

He can't possibly expect her to do an investigation and capture the killer, does he? He's better off demanding such a thing from the police.

_Oh, fuck._

The police.

_Of course, he wouldn't ask help from the police._ _If a businessman like Junpei Nakahara was killed in their territory–_

Akari realizes another thing that night, and wants to run away for not realizing it sooner.

"Junpei Nakahara isn't dead." She says, fighting against the nervous stutter of her words. "I talked to him this morning."

The thought of a posthumous Nakahara calling her from the dead terrifies her.

"He can't be dead!" She exclaims. "We talked. He called me, and–"

"Have you ever met him?"

"No, but–"

What comes to her then is like a massive burst of water from a geyser.

She was supposed to meet him for the  _first_  time today. But Junpei Nakahara has been transacting with them for a little over a year, and has been in constant communication with them. This was supposedly her first transaction with him, but–

If Junpei Nakahara had been murdered, who could have done it and what was his motive?

And why here?

_Of all places, why here?_

"Someone's out to get HOMRA." He answered.

She didn't realize she said that thought aloud.

"Tomorrow morning." He puffs a cloud of smoke. "Tell me everything you know then."

He walks away without giving her a chance to answer.

And she cannot refuse, knowing full well what he is capable of doing.

_Maybe it started with something like this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything is getting worse!

**Author's Note:**

> So instead of going all-out in one sitting, I have decided to cut this into pieces and see where it takes me. Don’t worry, I don’t think there will be too much drama or romance or anything of the sort. But I think there will be? Let’s see...
> 
> I just wanted to explore writing for this series again before I dive headfirst into the massive AU that is To Build an Empire (which features new strains, a Bronze King, and a... Black King!) I’m so excited for it that I haven’t had the time to write for my other stories!?
> 
> Again, feedback is always appreciated. Thanks for reading.


End file.
